


Super Psycho Love

by forgetful01



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetful01/pseuds/forgetful01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humanstuck AU</p>
<p>Gamzee moves into a new neighborhood and find that Dave is his penthouse neighbor. Only there’s something strange about how the clown and the cool kid interact. Is it just hate or something more than that?</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gabriel Makara, more commonly known as his rap stage name, Gamzee, had just moved into the Texan city with a cigarette in hand and a bag slung over his shoulder. It was his Dad's idea more than his to move; in fact he had wanted to go against the idea as much as he could. But shit happens and here he was, lugging his clothes stuffed into trash bags up the apartment steps while his Dad talks to the landlord. The elevator was out and their room was pretty high up, right across from the bottom penthouse level in fact. When he finally made it to the door he unlocked it and kicked his stuff inside.

Well that was that. He let out a whoosh of air, smiling. The apartment was already furbished, and it was pretty nice. A living/dining room in the far right corner, a t.v. on the left wall and stairs leading to the bathroom and the bedrooms beside that. The kitchen was across the room more to the middle, a window looking out to the street there too. He made his way over to the window and threw it open, hanging his arms and head out to look at the new world he found himself at. It wasn't so bad, he decided, even if it was hot as a motherfucker.

Gamzee usually donned himself with darker clothes, a black t-shirt and baggy cargo paints, clown spots splattered over the cloth. As baggy as his clothes were could only barely hide how twiggy he actually was, tall and lanky, with a lazy sweeping walk. Everything about him was laid back and casual, the dark rimmed eyes, his smile, and the wild unruly curly hair on his head that never looked brushed but fell in place perfectly regardless. He was just on the cusp of adulthood, his eighteenth birthday having passed already.

Just as he was making his way out of the apartment to fetch the rest of his belongings he noticed someone in the hallway, leaning against the wall. It was a boy, shorter than him, with pale yellow hair and dark shades obscuring his eyes, a red hoodie covering him. His headphones covered his ears and his head slightly nodded to the beat of whatever he was listening to. Gamzee watched him for a moment longer before turning to leave, just as the boy looked up, a smirk coming over his face.

"Nice makeup." He said before walking to the penthouse door, walking in and leaving the clown alone in the hallway. Oh yeah, that was another thing about Gamzee that brought attention to him. His greasepainted clown face, worn every day and never smudged in any way, carefully traced with steady fingers. He glared at the door before rolling his shoulders and headed back downstairs to get his stuff.

'Prick.'

 

 

Within the week Gamzee started school, no matter how much he griped about it. His Dads word was law, even if he wasn't around a lot to enforce it. His job required a lot of out of town time and Gamzee had just learned to accept that. Besides, it left him plenty of time to lounge around the house with some bud.

His Dad didn't know about that of course. He had been smoking since freshman year, always behind his Dad's back. His best friend back at his home town, Carter Vantas, had told him that his Dad probably did know and just wasn't going to say anything and Gamzee dismissed that idea immediately. If his Dad knew, he would have said something. Any motherfucker knew that.

But he was leaving again, tomorrow in fact and he would be gone for about a week, and Gamzee just smiled and laughed it off like always. Trying to change his Dad's mind hadn't worked years ago and it wouldn't work now. Any motherfucker knew that.

After a quick breakfast and a few hits from his previously packed bowl, he headed out of the apartment to wait for the school bus. It didn't take long and he plopped down into the first empty seat he saw. The bus started to move and someone tapped his shoulder. Great. It was the shades prick again.

"Move it Juggalette, this is my seat. Back of the bus is cool kids only."

His spine stiffened and he shot the boy a glare. "I don't see your name on it motherfucker."

They kept contact for a few tense seconds before the blond shrugged. "Fine. You can sit with me and pretend you aren't that awkward new kid."

"Fuckin' prick." Gamzee mumbled before looking back out the window. It was going to be a long bus ride.

 

 

The rest of the day went by with ease. Or at least, it would have if the prick wasn't in every single one of his classes.

"Rudy Stevens?"

"Here."

"David Strider?"

"Sup."

Gamzee turned in his seat, just noticing the asshole sitting in the row of desks next to him, two seats back. Fuck, this was perfect. He sighed and rested his chin on his arms, wishing for the fifth time in the last ten minutes that Carter was here to scream at anybody who came within arm's reach of him. Dave raised an eyebrow at him, the smallest hint of a smirk on his face. He glared back, flipping him off under his desk before opening his book to attempt to get some kind of work done.

Lunch was the biggest incident. Gamzee had managed to make a few friends with during the course of the day. They of course invited him to sit with them while they eat and he accepted, munching away on his pasty chicken nuggets when something hit the back of his head. Something warm, wet, and runny.

He spun and there was Dave, wiping off the remaining mashed potatoes off of his fingers. He wasn't laughing or even really smiling, just smirking. That God awful infuriating smirk. Gamzee was on his feet in seconds, grabbing Dave by the front of his shirt and reaching back, grabbing the first thing he could and slammed it into the Striders face. There was silence as the cool kid and the clown didn't move, just glared at each other and suddenly hell broke loose. Food started flying everywhere and Gamzee and Dave had just thrown each other at one another, grappling onto the floor, punching and kicking.

Teachers were trying to restore order just as the English teacher slipped in some pudding and fell onto her rear. This caused another uproar, but the two were too angry to notice. It took a total of three teachers to pull the two apart, Dave still kicking and Gamzee clawing at the air.

 

 

"Inexcusable. This behavior was inexcusable."

"He started it." Gamzee mumbled under his breath, sinking down further into his seat. The Principal glared at the two of them. He was a wiry older man, with white hair and bright green eyes, far too formally pressed just to be a principal.

"I do not care who started it. This was your first day young man, and you had better shape up. Mr. Strider, same for you."

"Sure thing Principal Scratch." Dave answered evenly, the corner of his jaw tense.

"Good. You both may go. Dave, your brother will hear about this."

They trudged out of the office, refusing to look at each other. School had already let out, and the buses left. "You walking?" The Strider asked and Gamzee shrugged before nodding. "Cool. C'mon."

He didn't move, confused to the core and suspicious already. "Chill chucklefuck, it's just a walk." Gamzee glared for a few more seconds before catching up with him, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

'He's still a prick.'


	2. Chapter 2

That night Gamzee ate dinner alone, extra runny easy Mac n Cheese, thinking over the day’s events. The Strider was purposely giving him mixed signals to fuck with him. He sighed and headed back to his bedroom, stepping over the pile of bike horns like always, and sat in front of his computer. Pesterchum started up and of course Carter wasn’t on. He was probably busy doing his school work, the dedicated goon. He sighed and signed off again before getting ready for a shower. The most he could figure out to do right now was wait; wait and see what Dave would do next.

 

 

And that apparently wasn’t much. Everyday Gamzee sat in Dave’s seat and every day Dave sat next to him. At first they never even spoke, aside from a few grumbles and shoves over who was hogging the seat more. Luckily school was enough to distract him, projects and homework already piling up. And as much as Gamzee hated homework and schoolwork to begin with, it was welcome at this point. He needed something to get his mind off of his Dad and Dave, and the fact he was running low on his supply.

Back at his hometown that was no problem, the Imp group of mischievous boys dressed in black and flashing bright colors always supplied him with whatever he needed. As much as the neighborhood saw the Imps as a nuisance, he liked them. And they were good for parties too, even if they always trashed the house.

He asked around school if anybody was dealing, and was surprised to hear Bro Strider, Dave’s older brother, was a dealer on the side of d.j.-ing. That weekend while his Dad was still gone he gathered up forty dollars and headed across the hall, knocking on the door while shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He had never even thought about coming into this apartment before, but at least he had a reason without the younger Strider suspecting something. Because yes, he was running low on his happy gas, but he wanted closer to Dave. That icy exterior only made him more curious; he wanted to see a different side of him that nobody had seen before.

The door opened and it was of course Dave. His eyebrow twitched and he frowned a bit, not slamming the door shut but not letting Gamzee in yet. “What do you want Juggalo.”

“None of your bees shit, Strider. I wanted to talk to your bro.”

“What for?”

“That ain’t your concern.”

Dave frowned more deeply, still unwilling to let the clown in. After another stare down from which neither could be determined the winner, he moved to the side and invited Gamzee inside.

 

 

It was a lot bigger than his own apartment, and pretty spacy. A large futon was off to the right and a game system paused on the wide screen t.v. “He’s in his room.” Dave was saying as he sat back down on the futon, grabbing back up the game controller. “First door on the right.”

“Cool.” He turned and headed down the hallway, finding the room and knocking. The door opened and a man about his early to mid-twenties opened the door. His hair was darker than Dave’s but only just, and maybe about a foot taller than Gamzee. He didn’t say anything, just let him inside and sat back down on his bed while he took a seat in the desk chair. “I heard you were selling.”

“Depends. You looking to buy?”

“Yup.”

The corner of Bro’s mouth twitched in amusement at just how honest the kid was before relaxing a little. “How much?”

“Forty. That enough for a cut?”

“Yeah.” He got to his feet and headed over to a safety deposit box in the corner, punching some keys into it before pulling out a small baggie and tossed it to Gamzee. “So I hear you know the little man.”

Shit. He stuffed the baggie into his pocket before handing off the forty dollars, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah I know him. We share the same classes.”

“Is that all you share?” Bro asked, a definite smirk on his face now. He was thankful for the paint still covering his face as his cheeks flared and his eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“I was just asking. You really got under his skin.”

“I did?”

“Oh totally.” He smirked again, and Gamzee was unsure if he was joking or being serious. Instead of asking he got to his feet and headed for the door. “Thanks again Bro, I owe you one.”

“Nah, tell you what.” He turned and looked back at Bro who was watching him from the bed. “You make a move, and we’ll be even.” Gamzee’s brow furrowed in a mixture of disgust and disbelief before muttering a quick ‘Yeah no thanks’ and shut the door, heading back down the hallway.

Dave was still sitting in the same spot he had been left in, shades fixated on the screen and slightly leaning forward in his concentration. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.” He said, never once missing a move on the game.

“Fuck you.” He grumbled, stomping down the stairs.

“Buy me dinner and we’ll talk!” Dave called after him, and he slammed the apartment door as hard as he could before storming back to his own. He had gotten what he went over there for, but this didn’t seem to ease anything at all. He tossed the baggie down onto his dresser and flopped on his bed, sighing into the blankets.

‘Fuck Strider. Fuck that prick.’


	3. Chapter 3

“C’mon pick up, pick up.”

He drummed his fingers along his desk, leg jiggling impatiently. The chat line continued to ring and ring and he was close to just ending the call when it was picked up and Carters face was blinking at him. “Gabe, it’s fucking five in the morning what the hell do you want?”

“I’ve got a bit of a problem here, bro.”

“Why?” Carter’s face looked worried now. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t immediately answer, just looked at his friend. Freckles were sprinkled over his cheeks, bright green eyes that were laced with dark circles, and sandy colored hair that never fell in an exact style; unless you counted bedhead as a style. The two had met years ago, at a park one day. He had been sitting on the jungle gym, his legs dangling over the edge and Carter at first ignored him. A few times going down the slide and he didn’t move at all, just kept sitting on the ledge.

The fourth time Carter went by he finally stopped and sat down next to Gamzee. “What are you staring at?”

“The sun.” He answered.

“You dummy. You’re not supposed to stare at it.”

“But it’s pretty.”

“That’s stupid, it’s just the sun.”

Gamzee found himself smiling regardless and he held his hand out to Carter like he saw on television once. “My name’s Gabriel Makara.”

“Carter Vantas.” He returned the hand shake and from then on they met at the park every day, looking up at the sun and the clouds.

“Hello? Gamzee, get your head out of your ass.”

He blinked, suddenly brought back to the conversation and he smiled apologetically. “Sorry bro, I just got fuckin’ distracted.”

“Yeah, well, get your shit together.”

An hour later after talking, he was no closer to figuring out what he should do to get around the thorn in his side. Carter left to go back to bed and Gamzee carefully packed his pipe, fishing for the lighter in his pocket. As he took a drag the smoke started to collect around his room and he couldn’t help but find a smile coming to his face. He would just wait to see what happened.

Midterms hit him like a ton of bricks and he could feel himself aching for Christmas break. The wind was cold now and slush lined the streets, soaking his shoes and making him curse not having a new pair yet. Like everything else he owned, he grinded them into the ground with usage until whatever he had was barely recognizable. But that’s how he’d always been he supposed. Use it until it doesn’t work at all. As the weather changed so did the overall mood in the school. Teachers pressed down harder about studying, and Gamzee himself found it all grating on his nerves. As he copied down notes and forced his way through homework, he found only one thing really stayed on his mind: the coolkid.

Each day as the bell rang and everyone headed to the waiting buses, he dodged and darted out of Dave’s line of vision. On one occasion he stumbled into the bathroom and heard the Strider’s voice saying, “…Shyest fuckin’ Juggalo.”

He’d seen Dave turn down people before; he was a dream among fawning girls and even a few aspiring boys. But each time they came back empty handed. He could already see the waves of valentines that would rain down on Dave’s ego; and he was forced to watch it all and know he couldn’t join in on the chase. It was torture. Pure unadulterated torture. As February drew closer, Gamzee knew he had to make his move before someone else did.

Dave opened his locker, ready to toss his books into it when he saw the note. He slowly raised an eyebrow, picking it up and opening it. The scrawl was childish at best, but not unreadable. At first glance it was an invitation, this Friday a party is going on. I’d better see you there motherfucker. A hastily scribbled time was below that. He could feel the faint traces of a smirk on his lips and he pocketed the paper, emptying his hands of his books and headed out to the buses.

From the corner, Gamzee watched him walk away with a large grin. Now the ball was in Dave’s court.


	4. Chapter 4

The party wasn’t at the apartment building, but sneaking out was no problem. And besides, Strider’s didn’t ‘sneak.’ They didn’t have to sneak, they could go wherever they damn well please whenever they damn well want. Bro was never strict on curfew, but then, cool guys weren’t strict on anything. They were chill. But of late, Dave felt his cool kid façade becoming strained. It was all the stupid clown’s fault. He had seen the saw Gamzee glanced at him in class when he felt he could get away with it. He took to flicking balls of paper at the back of his head, purposely hitting each other on the shoulder with a swinging backpack, and things of that nature. But no matter how many times Dave had tried to psyche him out, Gamzee wasn’t having any of it.

It was like nothing fazed him. Or rather, if it did, he didn’t show the right reaction. The Juggalo almost seemed to welcome the attention, even it was a glare or a flip of the bird, Gamzee was hovering in his peripheral with his arms waved, yelling, “Dave look at me, Dave look at me.” Look what I can do Dave. Anything you can do, I can do better Dave. It was sickening, if not disturbing. But in the same instance, it was familiar. It was almost like strifing with Bro, only with a new player and new rules. While Dave and his brother didn’t have to speak any rules, he and Gamzee did. It wasn’t in the stage of fire at will just yet. It had to be pushed a little further.

It was invigorating one minute, and infuriating the next. As much as he tried to push the honking idiot out of his mind, it just as easily came back in fleeting thoughts. How scrawny his legs were in gym class, how calmly he would smoke a cigarette behind the school grounds, how everything he did was in a simple movement. It wasn’t striding, but it was something exactly the same and completely opposite. It was almost intoxicating to watch, how laid back he would smile, how leisurely he would walk to class with unhurried sweeps of his long legs. It was ridiculous. It was stupid even, how fast he was getting under Dave’s skin. And if anything, the party made it worse.

He simply grabbed his hoodie and told Bro he’d be back later. Bro only waved him off with a, “Have fun with your boytoy,” and returned to watching TV. Dave chose not to snip a comment in return and headed down the stairs.

The music was already loud and he could feel a buzz settling in his mind as he sipped at his beer, watching the moving crowd of people with little interest. This was alright. It wasn’t fantastic, but it had decent music and the one thing he really came here for. There he was now, in a purple tank top and baggy black cargo pants, dancing to the music with no real effort. Dave had to hand it to him, Makara had moves. But that didn’t make him any more interesting. Definitely not.

Gamzee shot him a glance his way, eyes narrowed and a smile on his face. It was hard to tell if the clown was genuinely happy he showed up, or if it was a condescending smirk that would only infuriate him further. He settled with the first and tipped his drink at Gamzee. The other boy winked and turned his back to him, continuing to dance. For a moment Dave’s mind reeled in confusion. He was actually being hit on by the stoner Juggalo. What. Before he could even think up a decent reaction to this, Gamzee was already waltzing up to his side, taking a swig of his beer.

“Didn’t think you’d come, motherfucker.”

“Like I would miss this for anything.” Dave returned, downing the rest of his drink. Somewhere in a corner there was a couple frantically fondling each other over the layers of clothes and he forced himself to look in a different direction before his mind could come up with any more embarrassing thoughts. Gamzee seemed to notice what he was looking at and he smiled.

“I wouldn’t get all stressed and shit, bro.”

“Stressed about what.”

“That.” Gamzee said, pointing over to the couple.

Dave fell silent at that, not really looking at the crowd of dancing people or at Gamzee. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, which caused Gamzee to give him a playful push on the shoulder. “Tell you what Strider. You make the move, and I’ll show you a good time.”

“What?” Dave was already turning on the clown, but he stepped away and vanished into the throng of movement. He stood there for a long time before turning on his heel abruptly, crushing the can in his hand and tossed it into the trash. After a few more moments of hesitation, he grabbed his coat and left.

He took the long way home. It was already going on one in the morning; he didn’t think he had been at the party for that long. His shadow stretched out on his side, mimicking every shake of his head and every step he took. Make a move. This was something new, for sure. Even in romantic pursuits of the past, they all crawled belly down begging for a chance. And it did simply not happen the other way around. Strider’s get the bitches, not become the bitches. He sighed as he flipped out his phone, looking at it like it was the cause of all these problems and stuffed it back into his pocket.

That night he stared at the ceiling all night, Gamzee’s body moving to the music replaying over and over in his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for not updating this story in God knows how long, enjoy some porn
> 
> ((Don't get super excited))  
> ((It's not a lot))  
> ((....Yeah enjoy))

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Dave sighed aloud as he raised his hand to the door, giving a curt knock. He crossed his arms as he waited for an answer, raising an eyebrow when he heard someone tumble over something inside, whatever it was thudded to the floor. The door opened and Gamzee stood there, a knowing smirk on his face. “Strider. Here I thought you got lost on your way across the hall.”

“Wow, proper date etiquette, Makara. You going to let me in or not?”

Gamzee smiled and held the door open for him, Dave stepping inside and eyed the apartment behind the safety of his shades. It was different than his own, considerably smaller, and a decently amount filthier. While Bro insisted everything he left on the floor or the counters had a spot there, here there seemed to be no rhyme or reason. Takeout boxes and empty bottles of Faygo lined the floor, the largest pile next to the overstuffed couch in the living room section. 

“I guess you don’t entertain much do you.”

“My maids off for the week.” Gamzee explained with a casual shrug, and waved for Dave to follow him to the living room section of the main room, sinking down into the couch, ignoring the creaking that stirred when he did so. Dave eyed it precariously, not really looking for one of those rusted springs to cut through the couch and have a personal attack on one of his backup singers. But in the end he sat down, turning his head to the other boy.

“Okay Makara, you’ve got me here and I’m waiting.”

“Waiting? For up and what?”

Dave grimaced at the question, such a simple remark that required such a complex answer. While Dave hesitated to answer, Gamzee reached under the couch and pulled out a small tin box and set it on the coffee table, flipping it open and pulled out something long and rolled tightly together. He casually lit up and leaned back against the couch, looking back over to Dave, who had not yet answered.

“I’m waiting for a hit of that.” He finally concluded, hand outstretched. The corner of the paint covered lips curved up and relinquished the blunt over, watching as the Strider took a long hit, slowly exhaling it in smoke rings up toward the ceiling. 

“So this is all you come over for, bro, me to smoke you up?” The question didn't sound angry, or even disappointed. By way of answer Dave took another long drag, slightly puckering his lips and blew the smoke out in Gamzee’s direction. A smirk slowly appeared along the clowns face and he leaned closer to the other boy, taking the blunt back and raised it to his lips. After a few moments of silence and little movement, Gamzee’s free hand rose to Dave’s jaw and his thumb gently pushed his lips apart, his own coming within inches of each other and softly blew the smoke into his mouth.

 

The next day at school, they barely looked at one another. Dark red and purple marks lined both of their shoulders and along their spines, but they were easily hidden under the clothes. In the middle of his English lecture, Gamzee found himself gazing out the window, flashes of pale skin in his mind, a glimpse of red ruby eyes, there one second and gone the next, while his attention was focused on other things. Slowly kissing over his hips and trailing downward, a hand raised to cup over the already forming bulge, grinding his heel down to create a blissful friction that caused the Strider to hiss in pleasure. It was all so perfect, all so real, as he closed his eyes and carefully pushed his head downward, thankful he was never one to have a gag reflex, until his lips touched that wonderful pale skin that he already knew he would never get enough of. A long gasp when he held his head still, eyes flickering open to gaze upward, seeing the way Dave’s bottom lip was caught between his teeth, the skin close to breaking under the pressure. It was all too real, too wonderful, too unbelievable.

And when his teacher called on him, he snapped out of his daydream, a quick glance to the side in Dave’s direction. The slight flush over the boy’s cheeks told him that Dave was thinking of the same thing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little update for belated christmas present im so gomen

Just as things started to get settled and Gamzee thought that there wasn’t going to be another obstacle, here was a mountain. Shortly after what was to be named as the ‘dingdonging’, makeouts were galore. Often they skipped lunch or cut class to go down to the field and settled under the bleachers to have a quick smoke. Wipes were necessary to have at the ready, especially with the paint being present. Then after the session they would head back to class and shoot smirks at each other every so often.

Then one day it just stopped. Dave flat out ignored him through the bus ride to school, all through classes and all through lunch. Baffled, Gamzee decided to keep his distance, just thinking Dave was having an off day. But as the week went on it continued. No matter what the Strider would only give him a nod or a no, each with a jerky gesture. As spring break rolled around, Gamzee confided in Carter what was happening. “Bro, I don’t know what the fuck to be doin’. Like he’s acting all kinds of weird and shit, all up and ignoring me.”

Carter suggested they went too fast and just to keep his distance for the time being. Gamzee did as he said and moved to another seat on the bus, leaving him be at lunch, doing nothing but an occasional wave. Dave flat out didn’t acknowledge it. And each time Gamzee grit his teeth, wondering in frustration what the hell was going on.

Another talk to Carter and the suggestion changed. “He sounds like a raging douchebag.” Carter said, in between bites of his dinner he had taken into his room to avoid his dad’s raging downstairs. “You deserve better, Gabe.”

“Gamzee.” He corrected him, honestly preferring his stage name over his actual one.

“Whatever. You deserve better and that’s all I know. He’s playing hard to get, a stupid way of demonstrating power and domination in a relationship. I honestly don’t know why you care about him.”

“And who the mother fuck said I care about him?” Gamzee asked, frowning at the camera. Carter chuckled on the other end, waving the question off with his fork.

“Don’t give me that Gam, we both know I can read you better than you can process twinkle twinkle little star.”

He smiled at that, taking a moment to pause and take a drag of smoke, setting his pipe aside. “So what should I do bro?”

“Dump his ass to the curb and get someone half decent.”

“No c’mon man, I’m all serious.”

Carter sighed and wiped his mouth with a napkin before answering. “As much as I think you’re making a mistake, I’d say beat him at his own game.”

“Like how?” Gamzee asked with a crease of his brow.

“Element of surprise is a good tactic in warfare.”

 

Later that night, as Gamzee wiped his paint away, examining himself in the mirror, he frowned at the prospect that Carter introduced to him. He carefully washed his face and clicked off the lights, crashing onto the couch with a loud creak of springs. Tomorrow was the beginning of break, thank the Messiahs, and he rolled over, into the blankets, sighing as he slowly dropped off, wondering how this was ever going to work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fun and games are over aka the chapter where shit gets real hood real fast

Gamzee looked around the empty kitchen space, sighing and feeling his shoulders slump. His Dad had promised he'd be home three days ago, two days after break started. With another week to go, he found the wait had grated on his nerves long enough. He'd already lost count of the days he'd stopped taking his pills. He had taken them all his life, but when he found they weren't enough, he went to weed. As much as Carter nagged him with statistics of schizophrenia and the like, he brushed each one off. Something inside him told him he didn't care anymore. 

Besides not taking pills, he had long forgotten when exactly his last actual meal was. Surviving mostly on left over take out churned his stomach now, and the mere thought of food had him grimacing. Every other minute a chime would sound from his laptop, telling him Carter was still attempting to get in touch. He sighed and rolled over to face the side of the couch, burying his face. The apartment around him was in a worse of a mess than usual, thanks to an earlier temper tantrum, ending with a smashed window and an overturned television. Not that he cared, it was a piece of shit anyway. 

Two more days into break and nobody came knocking on the door to check on him, and even Carter seemed to cease the constant messaging. Maybe he thought Gamzee needed his space, but either way, it didn't faze the Capricorn. Nothing seemed real, the walls seemed faded in color now. He rolled onto his back, groaning when a curt knock rapped on the door. He sighed and stumbled to his feet, opening the door. 

 

"I truly am sorry for your loss, Mr. Makara." The man said again. Gamzee wasn't listening anymore. His eyes seemed focused passed the man. The comforting voice held no sincerity, and the crinkle in his smile only infuriated him. Finally he found his voice and asked the man to leave. He looked taken aback but complied, leaving Gamzee to lock the door behind him, stumbling about the apartment.

A car accident.

He spoke of you the entire way to the hospital.

I can understand how hard this is.

Your services representative will be by tomorrow morning.

All the words, everything he had thought and believed, was gone. After what felt like hours of wandering with no clear direction, he ended up in his Dad's room. With trembling legs he climbed into the over sized bed, wrapping his arms around the pillow that smelled most like his father and held it close to his chest.

 

Dave put his hand on Gamzee's shoulder, hoping to offer some kind of comfort. The dude was like a walking rain cloud these days, and Pooh doesn't want no part of that. He mumbled to himself, snapping at anybody who asked him to repeat what he said. Bro stood in the corner of the funeral home, talking to another adult that Dave didn't recognize. Gamzee muttered something and excused himself, being followed by Dave.

"Bro, you should say your goodbyes." 

"I didn't have nothin' to say when he was livin, I ain't got nothing to say now."

"Look," Dave said, crossing his arms and tilting his head, "I like you Gam. You can be an ass and break my shit for the fun of it, asshole, but I like you. And you should say goodbye while you can. I'll go up with you."

Gamzee only shook his head and left the hallway, returning to the main room, dodging questioning relatives and soft condolences from classmates, sitting himself in a seat in the corner. When the last walk around to the casket came, Gamzee wasn't in the line.


	8. Chapter 8

Gamzee stared out the window with a glazed look in his eyes throughout the after party at the restaurant. Dave watched him behind the safety of his shades, and being a few seats away helped in that. Finally he got to his feet and went to the pathetic dude and sat next to him.

"C'mon, let's get out of here." He offered.

Indigo tinted eyes blinked and Gamzee turned his head toward him and nodded. Nobody seemed to notice as they slipped out the door, out to the parking lot. Gamzee lit a cigarette as soon as they were out and he sat on the curb, running a hand over his face. Dave sat down as well, denying the cigarette as it was offered. A shrug with a roll of bony shoulders and an exhale of smoke. This was painful. 

"Look dude, just talk."

"'Bout mother fuckin' what." Another exhale, fast and tense.

"Gee willickers I couldn't imagine what. Gamzee just...stop it. Seriously. You're scaring the shit out of me."

"I wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Yeah somehow I doubt that."

Gamzee looked over finally, and his eyes narrowed. "And what the fuck is that supposed to mean."

"You know fucking what. You haven't taken your pills in months, I can literally see how sick you are just by your face. You look like life chewed you up and spat you out like some bullshit coconut chocolate."

"Makes me feel loads better." The other returned, flicking the butt of his cigarette away.

"Jesus you don't get it."

"Don't get what?" Came a demand.

Dave sighed, gripping his hands into fists. He knew he shouldn't have talked to this freak in the first place.

"Don't get what?" Gamzee repeated, shoving Dave. He retaliated with a shove of his own and now both boys were on their feet, ready for the other to strike. Before Dave's arms relaxed and he shook his head. 

"Gamzee, I'm not doing this with you."

"Doing what."

"Everything. Just. Stay away from me."

Gamzee's shoulders sank.

He suddenly felt empty and hollow.

Dave had already left to go back inside.

And he stood numb, in the middle of laughing and crying. In the end he did neither. He went back inside, told his ride he was feeling sick. He was dropped off and stepped up the fire escape, not wanting to enter the building through the front. Locked the door with a flick of his thumb, and took the last few steps to the couch. He laid down, turning his body to the cushions and slowly fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hahaha you think the last two chapters were bad?  
> yeah right

Carter was worried to say the least, and Gamzee knew that. All he would offer his best friend was clipped one word answers, and half the time not even that. He wouldn't even look at his pills and even stopped smoking recently. Everything felt dark, faded in color, blurry. He dropped out of school the day after the fight with Dave, and rarely left his apartment these days. It had been three weeks since they last talked, and Gamzee hated himself for knowing the exact date. The whispering in the back of his mind had grown to full out screams and most nights he spent bent over the toilet, vomiting up the nothingness in his stomach. It hurt, everything hurt. His joints ached, his head ached, his tongue was swollen and dry. 

He just couldn't find the will to care.

He hadn't eaten in days, and he stopped sleeping altogether. Nightmares plagued his nights, made him irritable during the day. He no longer felt any hunger, felt any tiredness. It all seemed to vanish the longer this act went on. His service representative, a man with glasses and a fat nose whose name he could never remember, had been asking if he took his medication and even had the balls to demand that he count out the pills to see if Gamzee was taking them accordingly. Every morning and night he flushed his dose down the toilet.

The only time he felt like himself was when he wandered about his dads room, picking up an object here and there to trace his fingertips over it, and set it back down exactly where he had found it. The doctors had told him the cause of death was internal bleeding, nothing they could really do. Once he was told such a thing, his nightmares changed from nameless shadows to visions of his father laying abandoned on a road, blood flowing from his mouth, hand outstretched to Gamzee. And in the dream, his hand never reached back. He would wake up, wet with sweat and dry heaving. He kept a trash bin by the couch now, the only place he seemed to linger the most. The apartment was trashed, tables and chairs either broken or overturned. Curtains covering the windows were always shut. The door was always locked, barring anyone from entering to check on him. And the only person he began talking to was himself.

Carter had pleaded, begged, promised, and everything under the sun. Eventually, Gamzee stopped answering him. He couldn't take it anymore. Something inside him told him that he no longer needed a friend. He deserved all this pain, all this suffering. Deserved everything he got.

Then came the blackouts. He would wake up, face down on the floor, broken glass around him from a broken lamp, or a mirror. He could never recall how he got there, or why he was there in the first place. But his head would throb and the screaming would get worse, making his throat feel hoarse and sore. His eyes were puffy and red from crying he guessed, and nail marks dug deep into his palms. And the only thought that echoed in his head was Dave's voice, taunting, mocking. Stay away from me. Stay away from me. Stay away from me.


	10. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the long awaited update has arrived here we go guys its the big one

There was a knock at the door. 

Blearily, Gamzee lifted his head from the couch and sat up to face the door. His service representative had been discharged, due to the fact that Gamzee was indeed, overage and legally had no need for him anymore. Not that he really minded. He hated the constant checkups, having to flush his dosage down the drain because the man had the fucking nerve to count out his pills to make sure Gamzee was still taking them. He hadn't been of course. He couldn't remember the last time he had. Not that he even really cared. The whisperings in his mind had morphed into full fledged screams, urging him on to smash and tear and whatever came across his path. The only room untouched was his Dad's. He couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't. So he simply did not.

The knock at the door sounded once more and he forced himself to his feet, stumbling over to the door. He looked through the spy hole, spotting the shades before anything else. Dave was here.

His bloodshot eyes widened. He could still hear their last conversation in his ears, thudding like a bass, repeating like a broken and scratched record. It was too much to take in, all at once, the fact that Dave was even at his door. He was so taken aback that at first, he didn't notice the shorter male was talking.  
"Gamzee open the fucking door already. I know you're in there. C'mon, time to get this shit over with."

Shit? What shit. This wasn't shit, this was real, this was reality. There was nothing outside of this.

"Gamzee, I'm serious. Either you open the door or I'm breaking it down and don't think I won't-" 

Before the Strider could go into one of his lengthy speeches, Gamzee opened the door, swung it open with a jerk of his arm. Dave stood there, fist raised to knock once more before dropping it, and Gamzee could tell he was being analyzed behind the shades.

"Fuck dude, you look rank as hell chewed you up and spat you out." 

"No mother fucking shit, Strider." You growl in return, not stepping away from the door to invite him into the dark apartment. He raises an eyebrow at that, and shifts his weight on his feet. 

"You gonna let me in or not?"

You don't know what to say to that so you step away from the door, finally, and wander back to the couch, flopping down in your usual spot. He follows you, shutting the door, the only light being what forced its way in along the doorway. He stands while you sit, looking around the disheveled living room. "Holy shit, dude."

"What." You snap.

"Guess you don't entertain much anymore, do you." He says.

"No." Came the short answer.

You can feel him rolling his eyes behind the shades and you force yourself not to grip your nails into the palm of your hands. 

"Gamzee, you look like hell. You smell about as bad. You look like you haven't eaten in a year, and your paints all smeared." 

"So the mother fuck what."

"Gamzee stop it."

"Stop what?!" Gamzee suddenly screams, rising to his feet in an instant. Dave takes a step back and Gamzee takes two forward. "Stop what brother." He say again, dropping his voice low.

Only Dave isn't answering, he's gone paler than usual, a blade perched in his hands. Gamzee stops when he sees the knife, realizing its out of self defense. But he's too far gone to care. Without further prompting he lunges at the Strider, grabbing the wrist that held the knife and twists it hard. Dave cried out and dropped the blade. A mad scuffle for it. Gamee ending up the winner, holding the blade. "You want me to stop?" He growls at Dave. Dave's back is against the wall and he's still trying to backpedal away. "YOU WANT THIS TO STOP?" He screams.

Blade raised. Lowered. Steadily, slowly. Cutting across smooth flesh. Once, twice, three times. Three identical cuts across his own face. All Gamzee can see is red, the blood, the moving of Dave's lips as he drops onto the floor. Spent. Tired.

Dead.


End file.
